My Inner Butch
I wrote before that I got my haircut Saturday. What I didn’t say is that it’s shorter than ever. Honestly, it’s shorter than I care for even if it is a good cut; my hair dresser got a little carried away. Now, every time I look in the mirror all I can think is “Uh, can we say dyke?”
But like I told my therapist, I don’t know what I’m complaining about because my hair grows so fast, it’ll be fine in a week. Seriously, it grows that fast! I get it cut every four weeks. Still, next time Donelle, darlin’, I’d like a little more sassy and a little less old-school dyke…I have hot pink toenails and dimples for goodness sakes.
However, this, and everything has got me thinking about my inner butch. No, we all don’t have one, sadly, but I definitely do. She’s chivalrous and handy; she struts and smiles, confidently; she laughs more; she’s freer and unafraid; she’s sexier and friskier; she’s strong and not afraid to look a little mysterious; she’s the person I want to be and have been before. She, too, is one of my missing…but, in this case, I know where she is:
She’s hanging at the back of my coat closet, still too small to wear with any dignity. She’s my black leather motorcycle jacket.
You see it’s not just about losing weight and getting “healthier” that motivates me to get to the rec. center every day after work—it’s the sense of loss that I feel for the person that I was at my 26th birthday. That was the year I let my inner butch out; that was the year I bought my motorcycle jacket and boots; that was the year I finished the first draft of my book; that was the year I had a really incredible one night stand in NYC with Alice F. (gasp!); and that was the year I first went to Chicago and fell in love with that city.
I’m wearing my boots today with black slacks, and the day I can zip up my jacket will be a happy day indeed. In fact, that is my next goal since I just met my first goal which was to get below 200 lbs. again. I figure it’ll take at least 30 more pounds before I can wear that jacket, so I’m shooting for my 30th birthday: August 5.
Yes, I know it’s hot in August, but I’ll be happy to sweat at little. In the mean time I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing: take this life one day at a time, and never, ever give up hope or stop trying.
It’s never too late to be what you might have been.
But like I told my therapist, I don’t know what I’m complaining about because my hair grows so fast, it’ll be fine in a week. Seriously, it grows that fast! I get it cut every four weeks. Still, next time Donelle, darlin’, I’d like a little more sassy and a little less old-school dyke…I have hot pink toenails and dimples for goodness sakes.
However, this, and everything has got me thinking about my inner butch. No, we all don’t have one, sadly, but I definitely do. She’s chivalrous and handy; she struts and smiles, confidently; she laughs more; she’s freer and unafraid; she’s sexier and friskier; she’s strong and not afraid to look a little mysterious; she’s the person I want to be and have been before. She, too, is one of my missing…but, in this case, I know where she is:
She’s hanging at the back of my coat closet, still too small to wear with any dignity. She’s my black leather motorcycle jacket.
You see it’s not just about losing weight and getting “healthier” that motivates me to get to the rec. center every day after work—it’s the sense of loss that I feel for the person that I was at my 26th birthday. That was the year I let my inner butch out; that was the year I bought my motorcycle jacket and boots; that was the year I finished the first draft of my book; that was the year I had a really incredible one night stand in NYC with Alice F. (gasp!); and that was the year I first went to Chicago and fell in love with that city.
I’m wearing my boots today with black slacks, and the day I can zip up my jacket will be a happy day indeed. In fact, that is my next goal since I just met my first goal which was to get below 200 lbs. again. I figure it’ll take at least 30 more pounds before I can wear that jacket, so I’m shooting for my 30th birthday: August 5.
Yes, I know it’s hot in August, but I’ll be happy to sweat at little. In the mean time I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing: take this life one day at a time, and never, ever give up hope or stop trying.
It’s never too late to be what you might have been.
posted by trace at 1:50 PM
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